


Life has a stench

by LdyBastet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Death Eaters, Ficlet, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Darkness Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-24
Updated: 2008-07-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LdyBastet/pseuds/LdyBastet
Summary: Lucius is in prison, but fortunes never stay the same, for better or for worse. [Lucius Malfoy, introspective]





	Life has a stench

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Written mostly with OotP in mind, but the events of DH had impact on it as well. Mentioning of sex in passing.
> 
>  
> 
>  

A new day dawns.  
  
It's noticeable by the grey light that filters into the cell through the small air shaft high up on the wall. The light is always grey; a heavier, almost exhausted grey in the winter, a lighter, less sad grey in the summer. The tired light sucks the colours out of things, of clothes, as if they never had colours at all, not even before they were locked inside the man-made burial mound of stone and turrets, of stairs and weeping walls that Azkaban is.  
  
The air that slips into the cramped cell is chilly, mingling with the cold air already inside, and brings with it a hint of sea and rain. But it is too faint to do much about the smell of the prison itself and Lucius is grateful for that.  
  
He has learned to enjoy the stench. It reminds him that he's alive and in a place that is not the grave, because Death smells nothing like this. He's seen Death many times, been its messenger more than once, and even though there are traces of the same components - fear, excrement, blood - the smell is different.  
  
Death, he thinks, can have many forms and some of them are more elegant and persuasive than others. The Death that seduces a man and takes him home with him with the lure and shine of emerald green, to the Death that is clad in rags and points with a bony finger instead of a wand, ripping the soul and bringing it, kicking and screaming for mercy, to his lacklustre abode...  
  
This stench has nothing to do with Death, and everything to do with Life.  
  
Life can be the feel of sun on one's face, the smell of flowers, the taste of a good wine, or the happy look on a son's face. It can also be the scent of a beautiful woman or an attractive man, the touch of a lover, a passionate kiss, the feel of a tight body around his cock...  
  
To Lucius, it has become this, the reality of prison. And Lucius bears it with head held high, knowing that every day brings him closer to freedom, every day is an opportunity to plan for his return to the wizarding world, his revenge for this indignity.  
  
Life also has a taste, and it's the taste of cold gruel and stale bread. Lucius knows better than to dream of fat pheasants on his plate, of succulent meat and thick gravy, because that would soon drive him to despair. So he eats his prison fare, taking what nourishment he can from it. It won't do to die there, or to act like a petulant child and throw temper tantrums over the chill, the thin blanket, the hard bed, the food... to think only of what he cannot have, and in the end be forced to give up.   
  
That would not be the Malfoy way. Malfoys ride out the storms, with pride intact, and they always find a way to grab what victory they can even from the most desperate of situations. Always.  
  
A new day dawns, and perhaps tomorrow Lucius can show his son how to prosper under the Dark Lord's reign, teach him what mistakes to avoid. The Dark Lord will not bring Death upon him, despite his anger. The Dark Lord will set him free, and Lucius is going to take that freedom and shape it to his liking.

 

~*~  


  
  
A new day dawns.  
  
Lucius finds himself free, but it is not the freedom he's hoped for. The Dark Lord is ever unpredictable, ever increasingly irrational. The life that once seemed so certain and so easily within their grasp slips farther away, elusive. It's not that the vision of what could have been (and still could be) is flawed, but that the one holding the very key to the success of the venture has become lost in the haze of personal vendetta and the quest for personal immortality.   
  
What becomes of the grandeur of all Wizards, when the strongest of them all cares only for himself?  
  
Life has a stench, and the stench is that of madness.  
  
One prison was exchanged for another, and Lucius is now a prisoner in his own home, not daring to do anything for fear of his son's life.   
  
Lucius can only watch as the Dark Lord takes over his home, his family, his life... everything he has that is worth taking... including his wand. The Malfoys have become silent, each of them contemplating the best path towards safety and the chance to reclaim their lives and destinies. No words are exchanged, the danger too great with Lord Voldemort so close. But he thinks them weak now, broken, and that is his greatest mistake, for one chance is all Narcissa needs to turn the tide of misfortune and make certain the Dark Lord falls.

 

~*~  


 

  
A new day dawns.  
  
Being rid of the Dark Lord has set him free, and Lucius is going to take that freedom and shape it to his liking.


End file.
